


She tells her it's therapy

by zombikki



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Drugs, F/F, Femslash, Molestation, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombikki/pseuds/zombikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little femslash drabble I wrote in the wee hours of the morning. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She tells her it's therapy

She tells her it’s therapy.

She opens the door and smiles. Her face is as calm and beautiful and perfect as it has always been whenever they meet. She motions to the chair for her to sit down. She obliges; there isn’t much that could keep her from trying to rest whenever possible. She explains that she doesn’t know how much longer she can last. She can’t keep looking. She can’t keep thinking. It’s killing her, she says. It’s turning her into another person. It frightens her.

She offers her a drink. She obliges. The wine is crimson, thick, and wet, like the blood she’d seen splattered all over the walls hours before. She tries to drink it, but it’s too much right now. Too much like blood. Too much like today. Too much like death.

She replaces it with a glass of water. A glass of water that she has drugged, unbeknownst to her. She drinks it with several long gulps. She waits and watches. Their conversation continues. Her words grow hazy. Her speech becomes slurred. She isn’t sure what’s happening, but she can tell it isn’t good.

She doesn’t remember blacking out. She barely remembers the feel of cold fingertips on her thigh. The hand on her back, underneath her blouse. She remembers, but she doesn’t know if it’s real. If she’s sleeping. She never knows anymore.

It’s probably a dream, the kisses down her neck. The gentle biting of her skin. The hand up her skirt. She remembers being wet. She remembers her own voice hitched in her throat. She remembers crying out. She remembers begging. She remembers the feel, the need, the desire.

She tells her it’s therapy.


End file.
